


Essentials

by zeldadestry



Category: Entourage
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 18:34:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldadestry/pseuds/zeldadestry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“She told me that the only time she really feels alive is on stage, dancing.  The rest of her time is all just waiting, waiting to get back there.”</p><p>“Is that how you feel, when you’re acting?”</p><p>“No, not acting.”  Vince tucks his fingertips underneath the sleeve of Eric’s t-shirt, tease of skin on skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Essentials

“Some actors aren’t good actors,” Vince says.

“Yeah, like Johnny,” Turtle snickers, and gets slapped on the back of the head for it. “Fuck, Drama, that hurt!” 

Drama retreats into the house and Turtle follows, both shouting insults at each other. Eric watches them go and then turns his attention back to Vince. “What do you mean?” 

“They can’t lie, or pretend not to care. They’re, like, raw,” Vince says. “Everything they want is always in their eyes.”

“Like who?” 

“I dunno. Maybe Joaquin Phoenix. Or that chick, you know, she’s British. She was bald in “Minority Report”.”

“Samantha Morton,” Eric supplies.

“Yeah. Klaus Kinski, he’s another.”

“That dude was certifiable,” Eric points out.

Vince gives a loose maybe, maybe not, shrug. “Does it matter when he’s so incredible to watch?”

“Honestly? His performances freak me out.”

Vince frowns, lost in thought. “You know what I read once about James Dean? Crew had to turn away from him, they couldn’t watch him work.”

“They thought it was bad?”

“No. It was too real.”

“Where’d you read that?”

“Book about the method.” They’re sitting side by side at the table and Vince reaches out his arm, drapes it over the top of Eric’s chair. “I was talking to this girl the other day-” 

Eric laughs and leans back into Vince’s touch. “You mean you were fucking her?”

“No, just talking.”

“Bullshit.”

“Swear on my mother. She was on set for a day to work with one of the other actors. She’s a ballerina and she told me that the only time she really feels alive is on stage, dancing. The rest of her time is all just waiting, waiting to get back there.”

“Is that how you feel, when you’re acting?”

“No, not acting.” Vince tucks his fingertips underneath the sleeve of Eric’s t-shirt, tease of skin on skin. 

Eric doesn’t know what to say but Vince doesn’t seem to mind, he just reaches for the last beer on the table with his other hand. They share it, passing the cool bottle back and forth between them, Vince’s arm warm around Eric. 

 

They gave into it once, and then again, and again, until now it’s always there between them, bleeding into every corner of their lives. Eric knew it would, knew it was only a matter of time, because Vince asks and he can’t turn away. 

Today he’s trying to get Vince up off the couch so they can get to a screening of a work print of Vince’s latest film. Vince grabs Eric’s hand and rubs his cheek against it, nuzzles his mouth across the heel of Eric’s palm. “Vin, we gotta go.” Eric pulls back and Vince follows the cue, taking to his feet, but then he reels Eric in, seizes him in a hug and sucks at his throat. “Stop that,” Eric says. 

“You taste good,” Vince says.

“We’re gonna be late.” 

Vince’s arms tighten around him. “Soon as we get back,” he says. 

“Yeah?” 

“You’re all mine. Ok?”

Eric feels his face flush. “Yeah, sure, whatever.” 

Vince lets go, points both his index fingers at Eric, and says, sleazy as hell, “All mine and you like it.” 

Eric laughs in his face because it’s too ridiculous. “Whatever, dude, just get in the frickin car.” 

 

When the screening finishes, Eric notices that Vince looks troubled as the lights come up, his brow furrowed and his shoulders raised, but he quickly pastes a smile on and relaxes when the attention of the room turns back to him.

He relies on Eric to steer the small talk, afterwards, but that’s nothing new. 

 

“Ok,” Eric says, once they’re in the car, heading home. “What is it? What’s wrong with the movie? I think it’s brilliant, by the way, if you still give a shit what I’ve got to say.”

“Nothing’s wrong with the movie. The movie’s great.”

Eric turns to him at the next red light, but Vince ignores his attention. When the car’s moving again, Eric says, “Alright, alright, keep it to yourself, if that’s what you want, but that means you lose the right to complain later on.”

“It’s not something you can make better.”

God, that pisses him off, almost enough to make him pull over to the side of the road and start shouting at Vince. He waits until they get home, waits until they’re out of the car, but jumps Vince before they’re halfway up the walk. “Come on, asshole. Ten grand says it’s something I can fix.” 

Vince, who’s a few steps ahead of him, stops and turns, so that his profile is visible. “Jeffrey Wright is a really, really good actor.”

“So? So what? You were great, Vince, I’m telling you. You’ve got nothing to worry about.” Vince shrugs. “He’s been doing this for a lot longer than you, anyway.” 

“Ben Foster hasn’t.”

“Don’t do this to yourself.” Eric reaches a hand out and up, grabs onto Vince’s shoulder and gives him a little shake. “They’re character actors, you’re a leading man, stop comparing.”

“Yeah, I’m a leading man, and that means I get roles because of how I look, right? It’s not because of my acting, it’s because people want me in their beds.”

Eric frowns. He’s not sure what Vince is actually worried about so he’s unsure how to respond. “What do you want me to say? You’re ugly, Vin, fuckin hideous, I can hardly stand to look at you.”

“That’s not what I-” Vince cuts himself off, frustrated. 

They stand in silence, Eric’s hand still resting on Vince’s shoulder, Vince’s gaze turned downward. “Hey,” Eric says, hand sliding all the way down Vince’s arm to curl around his wrist, “you ok?”

“Yeah,” Vince says, shrugging, shaking Eric, everything, the whole strange moment off, tossing his head back like he has no cares. “I’m good.” 

 

In some ways, they’ve never been closer and yet Eric worries now, more than ever before, and that’s saying something because he’s always been a nervous guy, about losing Vince. 

He knows Vince is looking for something to change, not between them, but in his life. They don’t talk about it, not really, but how can Eric not notice when Vince puts on music and lies on the floor, gazing up at the ceiling, and, when he reaches a particular song, one that’s different every time, his eyes will widen, and he’ll play it on repeat, listening to it over and over, like its got some secret mystical message he’s determined to absorb. “You’re such a bum,” Eric rags him, when he gets home from the office and finds Vince doing just that. 

Vince sits up and stares at him. “I’m thinking.” 

He almost asks “about what?” Instead he smirks, says, “Whatever, Aristotle,” and heads into the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge. He drinks it in front of the window, staring out at the yard. Someone told him today that when they’re stressed, the first thing they do is look outside for as long as it takes to spot a bird. He’d laughed at first, thinking it was a joke, because how the hell could that make any difference? Problems don’t go away unless you attack them head on. Right now, though, he kind of gets that it could be a relief to be so focused on something outside one’s self, one’s constant, nagging concern. 

“You wanna go out for dinner?” Vince asks from behind him.

Eric turns towards him and shrugs, doesn’t commit. He does want to go out, actually. He wants Italian food, and red wine, and Vince across the table from him. There’s a complication, though. Now that they’re together, though they never call it that, they don’t call it anything, Vince seeks out Eric’s touch all the time. And whatever Vince wants, Eric tries to give him. But what’s between them is not for public consumption or display and, if Eric sometimes wonders if he’s a coward, saying he wants privacy when he’s really trying to hide, well, he doesn’t let himself dwell on the thought. “Let’s order in,” he says, and Vince nods, places his hands on Eric’s hips, and leans down to kiss him hello. 

 

They’ve got a meeting scheduled with Ari next week. Eric’s already been through all of the scripts once, and the ones he liked twice, and now he’s just waiting to hear what Vince thinks. Vince is out by the pool, sunglasses on, a beer in one hand and a script in his lap. Eric watches him for a few minutes and he finishes his beer but never flips a page. Eric steps outside and heads towards him. 

Vince takes off his sunglasses when he notices Eric. “There you are,” he says. 

Eric bristles, a little, like he’s being criticized for not constantly being in reach, but it’s hard to hold on to any bad feeling when Vince grins at him. “Hey,” Eric says. “Find anything you like?” 

“Other than you?” Vince winks at him. 

Eric rolls his eyes. “I was talking about the scripts.”

“Don’t remind me.” Vince tosses the one in his lap to the ground. “Which ones did you like?”

“Dude, I am not falling for that. You’ve gotta do your own damn homework, superstar.” 

Vince runs a hand through his hair. “Nothing really-” Eric waits, patient as he can be, though he knows this pause means nothing good. “Grabs me.”

“You looked at them all?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok.” 

“Ok, what?” 

He hates playing bad cop with Vince and he’s not gonna do it today. “Then we’ll say no to all of them.” 

“Ari’s gonna be pissed.”

“I can handle him.”

Vince stands, stretches, drawing it out once he catches Eric watching. “Not like he has anything to hold over my head anyway, right? I could be a nobody, again, and still be happy, as long as I know my friends have my back.” 

“You say that but I’m not sure it’s so simple,” Eric says. He knows his own ambitions aren’t so easily satisfied. “I like things the way they are, you know? Why can’t we have expensive cars, nice houses, money in the bank, and also all the people we care about?” 

“When you put it like that-”

“What?”

“Makes it sound like your friends are just more possessions.”

“You know that’s not what I mean. I’m just saying that I wouldn’t want to choose between my professional life and my personal life, that’s all.”

“But if you had to choose?”

“I don’t.”

“But if you did?”

“You’re starting to piss me off.”

Vince drifts closer. “I know.” 

Eric shakes his head. “You’re an idiot.”

Vince plays dumb. “What?”

“You know what I would choose, no matter how much I like building my business.” And raising my status and counting my successes, he thinks. 

Vince reaches out and pulls at the front of Eric’s dress shirt. “Hey, suit,” he teases.

Eric curls his hand into a fist and bumps it against Vince’s cheek. “If you were Billy Walsh, you’d be ducking a punch right about now.”

“But I’m not Billy Walsh.”

“I know.” Eric wraps his hand around the back of Vince’s neck, draws him down until their foreheads touch. “And I got other ways to distract you.”

 

Eric’s alarm goes off early in the morning for a breakfast meeting and he’s surprised to find himself in Vince’s bed alone. He still has his own bedroom, technically, but he can’t remember the last time he slept there. When he goes down to the kitchen to start coffee, he finds Vince sprawled out on the couch, a drink in his hand, watching a dvd. “What’s up?” 

Vince shrugs. “Not tired.”

“Not tired or you couldn’t fall asleep?” 

“What’s the difference?”

“Uh, it’s a pretty fuckin big one.” He sits down on the arm of the couch, stares at the screen. Subtitles. Huh. “What is this?”

“It’s called Pickpocket.” 

“Director?”

“Bresson. I’ve been meaning to watch it for a while. Someone told me Schrader sort of repurposed parts of it for “Raging Bull” and some of his other scripts.”

“No kidding. So I should probably see it sometime.”

“If you want.” Vince finishes his drink. “It’s sad.” 

Eric takes the glass from Vince’s hand. “Yeah?” 

“Yes,” Vince echoes, far too serious.

Eric grabs the remote from the coffee table and stops the dvd. “What is it?” he says. Vince keeps his eyes fixed on the blue screen. “You’re freaking me out. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” 

“You sure?”

“Yes, E, Jesus. Stop nagging. I’m ok.”

Ok suddenly seems like a meager substitute. “Yeah, but- are you happy?”

“Don’t ask me that. Who the hell ever is?” He turns to Eric. “Are you?” Eric doesn’t know what to say. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

Eric leaves the room, waits at the kitchen table while the coffee brews. He asks himself what he’ll do if what he has with Vince changes, if the connection between them, the way they are right now, ends. He’s a sick fuck in too many ways. He always liked that Vince leaned on him, he craved that dependence, while at the same time bullshitting himself that he was the strong one. He needs Vince just as much.

Eric’s pouring milk into his coffee mug when Vince wanders into the kitchen. “Movie over?” Eric asks.

“Come on, you know if it’s serious, you gotta call it a film.” 

“Ha ha.” Vince winks at him. “Did you finish your film?” 

Vince shakes his head. “Gonna try to get some sleep.”

“That’s probably best,” Eric says.

“You gonna be at the office after your meeting?”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t work from home?”

“No, not today. Sorry.” Vince nods. “But I’ll take off early, if I can. We’ll get dinner.”

“Cool.” 

Eric keeps an emergency plan in his back pocket, a “when all else fails” possibility, in case either of them decides they don’t want to be in the game any more. “Hey, Vin, you know, right, that you can just say fuck it, fuck this, any time you want? You can take what you’ve got and invest it conservatively and live off the returns for the rest of your life.” 

“Could I?”

“Yeah. You’re a lucky bastard and you’ve got that freedom. It’d be a completely different lifestyle from the one you’re living now, though.” 

“So no Aston Martin for your next birthday, huh, E?” Vince says, grinning.

“Hey, if you can say fuck off to this, so can I.”

“Good to know.” 

“Whatever you want,” Eric says, just so it’s clear. “Whatever you want, Vince.”

 

Vince signs up for a week long surfing intensive, comes home each day after dark, still smelling like the ocean.

On Friday, Eric finishes up at work in the afternoon and drives down to the beach, an hour before he said he’d be there, just so he can watch Vince surf.

When the lesson’s over Vince and his teacher stand together at the shoreline, talking, laughing. Eric considers, for a moment, interrupting them, but he can’t hold on to Vince, he can’t hold on to any of this, not like that. 

When the dude and Vince finally say good bye, Eric shouts Vince’s name, waves his hand. 

“Hey,” Vince says, when he reaches Eric. He wriggles out of his wetsuit and Eric doesn’t pretend not to appreciate the show. Vince drops forward, lies out across the enormous towel Eric’s sitting on, resting on his belly. “You’re early.”

“Yeah.” 

Vince closes his eyes. “You missed me?” he murmurs. 

“That’s never a question, Vin.” 

“You missed me.” 

“Yeah.” Eric pushes a lock of wet hair away from Vince’s forehead, rubs his thumb back and forth across the rough stubble of Vince’s jaw. 

“E?”

“Yeah?”

“Lie down.”

“I’m good.”

“Come on, I’ll tell you a secret.”

Eric sprawls on his side, facing Vince. “Alright, let’s hear it.” 

“This,” Vince says, “Right now? Yeah, I’m happy.”

“Good.” Eric rests his hand over Vince’s. “So am I.”


End file.
